Why 3-2-1? Maybe because for me, watching 3-2-1 after Saturday tea was as much a part of the matchday ritual as having fish and chips at lunch-time, parking in Coningham Road, being allowed to sit on the barrier at the front of the Loft, and so on. If you don’t remember 3-2-1, either through age, a lack of current access to crap cable television channels, or just plain good taste, then let me enlighten you. Useless talent vacuum Ted Rogers presented the show, the ludicrous premise of which was:

 

1. Contestants watched crappy ‘comedy’ sketches that apparently contained clues to prizes.

2. After each one, the contestants were presented with a clue object and a written (often rhyming) clue.

3. Using this information, contestants rejected objects throughout the show, until only one was left - which denoted the prize they received.

 

Prizes ranged from cars and holidays to the infamous ceramic Dusty Bin - the booby prize. The problem was the clues were completely impenetrable, to the extent that to win a major prize was a triumph of statistical probability rather than reasoned deduction.

 

For example, after watching an hilarious sketch about, say, some cleaning staff disposing of some rubbish, the contestant would be handed the clue, maybe a dustpan and brush or similar, as well as the dreaded rhyme, “To clean your own house, you’ll need one of these. To collect your rubbish, if that’s what you please.” The whole viewing public would be screaming at the telly, “Get rid of it! Get rid of it! It’s Dusty Bin!”

 

Duly, the dustpan and brush would be despatched by the contestants and Ted would then deliver his verdict on what they had just rejected. This was the point in the show at which there seemed to be some sort of logic failure, in my opinion.

 

“Well,” Ted would begin, “to clean your house, you’ll need one of these. That could be a hoover or something, and it could be Dusty Bin. To collect your rubbish, if that’s what you please... well, you’d certainly be pleased to collect one of these... and you’d need it to collect your rubbish if you were taking it to the dump or something... yes, you’ve rejected the car!”

 

What? What? Don’t be fucking ridiculous. How the hell is that the car? Full marks usually went to the hapless contestants, who were often mouth agape in shock and anger at being fiddled out of the star prize, for keeping their cool. Surely at some point in the series, someone must have lost it and smashed up the studio upon hearing that rejecting a clue about putting the rubbish out had cost them a holiday for 12 in Barbados, or similar.

 

Arriving home angry at a Rangers performance in the afternoon (probably combined with getting stuck in Twickenham traffic on the way home), 3-2-1 was just the job to annoy us (and Dad in particular) just that little bit more and often made the difference between me being allowed to stay up for Match of the Day and Parkinson or being sent to bed after Dick Emery.

 

Thus, Ted Rogers and 3-2-1 were responsible for the theft of my childhood - and are the reason that I am now so socially dysfunctional. I don’t think that’s over-stating the case at all. Oh yeah, and there was that stupid poxy irritating little finger routine that he used to do. See - the show was so bad, I didn’t even feel the need to mention that earlier. The Generation Game with Bruce Forsyth - now there was a professional at work.

 

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A poem. By Anthony Hobbs. Issue 106